


Surprise!

by Demibel



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluffy drunken things, M/M, Multi, NSFW in chapter two, Surprise Party, in which paint is a good excuse to be naked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demibel/pseuds/Demibel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A surprise party for Joly is thrown at Courf's apartment and drunken antics ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

All in all, as far as surprise parties go, Joly’s was a success. That is, of course, after they convinced him he wasn’t actually suffering from a heart attack, and he was going to be fine, and no those weren’t palpitations and oh lord, don’t take out your sphygmomanometer, your blood pressure is fine, here just have a drink.

As soon as he stopped checking his pulse and accepted the red solo cup that was pushed into his hand, the party went smoothly from there. Courfeyrac’s flat was roomy enough that they could spread out comfortably, throwing themselves onto the couch, or some chairs, or in Bossuet’s case, the floor after he tripped over the cat. He figured then it would be safer to just stay there. The wine was flowing, as well as the tequila, rum, beer, and vodka. Sooner or later, people paired off into groups of two or four and the conversation mixed with the music, as it usually did.

Grantaire and Enjolras were in the middle of some debate or another about the Occupy Wall street movement. Grantaire, already far gone off his game argued that the movement was pointless, that even if “We are the 99%” the movement will never garner enough people to actually make a difference. “The people are scared.” He claimed, his speech slurred and his breath heavy with the smell of alcohol. “They’re never going to rise to their true potential. There’s too much strength that they have to rise against.” Enjolras looked calm, his passion belied by his sober expression. “It only takes one movement. One event to light a spark. The public will rise. They’re angry, and they have every reason to be. And there’s a great deal of power in a mass of angry men.” R simply shook his head and went back to his flask. Everyone knew that they would be attacking each other all night, with words and eventually, when they needed to shut the other up, with lips and tongue and teeth, and everyone would groan and turn away, secretly pleased for them.

Joly stumbled over to Bossuet, falling contently into the other man’s lap and giggling over something the man had said. Musichetta shook her head in a long suffering amusement and went over to join them, sitting with her legs crossed so as to not muss her skirt. The three of them spoke quietly, too quiet for anyone else to hear, but judging by the loud giggles coming from Joly, it was clear that he was going to have a very exciting birthday night when they left. They were a vision of family, a happy little triangle of lovers, and sometimes they made themselves sick with how much of a couple they were, but tonight, everyone was drunk, and having a good time, so they couldn’t be bothered to care.

Combeferre and Feuilly were fiddling with Courfeyrac’s entertainment system, trying to find a suitable movie that could serve as background noise, even though the music was playing loud enough. They were both visual people, it made sense in a way that they wanted to watch a movie. But when Courfeyrac’s DVD collection of all seasons of the Golden Girls was found, there was no question about it. Soon enough, they were sitting side by side on the sofa, staring intently at Bea Arthur, Betty White, Rue McClanahan, and Estelle Getty, and bemoaning the fact that once Betty White passed, there would be no more Golden Girls, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could figure out how she could live forever, and oh my goodness Blanche you sassy mother fucker!

Bahorel was standing with Marius, who was very preoccupied with staring at Cosette and Eponine. The girls were dancing, gossiping, and giggling, as two young girlfriends often do, and throwing glances the boys’ ways. Eventually their smirks grew more apparent and their talking grew softer, and Courfeyrac swore Marius’s eyebrows touched his hairline at one point when Cosette beckoned him over. “You owe me a dance Mr. Pontmercy.” She murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and swaying slightly. “When did I promise you a dance?” She rolled her eyes. “When you asked me out for coffee the first time. You became my boyfriend, so that means I get to dance with you whenever I want.” He shrugged, not one to argue when Cosette’s lips were against his neck and the music was loud and he was buzzed and Bahorel was driving. Eponine shrugged over at Bahorel, slipping beside him to take Marius’s place. “Having fun?” He smirked and snaked his arm around her shoulders. “Now I am.” They would be dancing later that night, each imagining they were holding someone different, but settling for the one they had. It wasn’t the healthiest of friendships, but it worked for them, and no one questioned them for it.

And that left Jehan and Courfeyrac, laughing together in the kitchen. Courfeyrac mixing yet another rum and coke for Jehan, and Jehan scribbling down another dirty couplet on Courf’s dry erase board. “Penetrate my life, Beat around the bush, We like it dirty when we’ve been smokin the bubba kush.” Courfeyrac managed to read out through his laughter. “Are you serious?!” Jehan merely giggles and downs his drink, his face flush with red. “You match your cup.” Courf pointed out with a chuckle, and that only made Jehan laugh even harder, covering his face with his hands, and his laughter died down as Courf took his hands and held them away from his face. “Don’t hide it. It’s cute.” That earned them both a shy grin and a hurried offer to make another drink, and they should join the others, don’t you think? They meandered in, unhurried, and if Courfeyrac’s hand strayed a little too far down the small of Jehan’s back, neither of them mentioned it.

Slowly but surely, as all parties do, the party ended. Their friends slowly filtered out, two by two, and in some cases, three carrying another, but the party came to an eventual end. All that was left was a very messy flat, a passed out cold Combeferre on Courfeyrac’s sofa, and Jehan and Courfeyrac, studying the selection of paints he had inherited from Grantaire, for when he decided white walls were boring. Everything past Courfeyrac’s hand brushing Jehan’s over a can of bright yellow paint was a blur.

Jehan groaned, his head already pounding with the first signs of a wicked hangover. He turned over to his side and yawned, only to have someone grumble in response. His eyes shot open despite their desire to shut tight and go back to sleep. Oh my god. Courfeyrac, the man he wouldn’t admit he spends too much time thinking about, is lying next to him, and….oh shit, he is definitely not wearing a shirt. Jehan looked down at himself. He wasn’t clothed either. Both of them, stripped down to their boxers. Jehan went into panic mode, or at least, hung-over panic mode, desperately looking for strewn clothes, or any clues that would help him put the pieces to this puzzle together.

In his post wakeup flailing, he woke up his sleeping companion. Courfeyrac groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What are you doing?” Jehan blushed a deep red. “Oh…I was…uh…well, looking for my clothes. What happened last night? Did we….do you remem…uh…my head is killing me.” Courf rolled his neck, working the kinks out. “Relax, Jehan. We got paint all over our clothes, so I offered to put them in the tub in the bathroom. I think I might have thought that the tub would magically wash them. That plan was not one of my best.” He pressed a hand over his head. “And I’m a clingy drunk. I probably just dragged you in here. Sorry.” He smiled sheepishly before moaning again and turning to lay back down. “I hate birthdays.”

Jehan sighed in relief. It would have not been the ideal first time together he had been picturing with Courf. No, that was going to be special, and he’d remember it the next morning, and for the rest of his life, and there would be a lot of kissing and music, and maybe some poetry, and….he was getting ahead of himself. He slowly, tentatively laid back down, his side touching Courfeyrac’s back. “Is this…okay?” He asked shyly. Courf looked over his shoulder at him to grin. “Yeah, could be better though.” Jehan frowned in confusion. Courfeyrac turned to face the poet, and without warning, had tucked Jehan neatly against his chest, resting his chin against the top of Jehan’s head. “Much better like this.” He murmured sleepily, practically purring. Jehan swore he could feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest, along with the steady hum of his pulse. It was warm, skin on skin, Courfeyrac and Jehan. And for once, Jehan didn’t analyze. He was going to sleep, and he was going to do it wrapped up in Courfeyrac’s arms.

They would wash their clothes and talk when they woke up. But for now, they would sleep soundly, the world around them lost to the sound of each other’s breath.


	2. Worth the Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The awkward morning after and the end results.

Courfeyrac was the first to wake up after he and Jehan had decided to ignore the world and go back to sleep. Jehan was still wrapped up in his arms and sleeping soundly and he was able to get a good look at the creative writing student. He wasn’t smaller physically, but Jehan had this way of curling up and taking up less space than he might have needed. The corners of his lips turned up in a half smile when he slept, and his hair was mostly blonde, but it had red and brown streaks that you could only really see in the right light. Courf bit his lip and tried not to make any noise as he moved his arm. It was asleep and tingling horribly, but he didn’t want to wake up his companion. He ended up in an odd position with his hand underneath Jehan’s head, and his other arm draped over his stomach. It wasn’t ideal, but it let him continue with his study.

Jehan was a creative writing student, always jotting some poem or note on whatever he could get his hands on. That was something Courf loved about him. Even if the guy didn’t have paper, he would write. His sleeves were always covered in ink, and his fingers usually had words covering them. Sometimes Courf would catch himself craning his neck just to get a glimpse of what the man was writing. He sighed, realizing that he was going to have to leave the bed at some point to check on the flat. Combeferre had passed out on his couch, and was probably really confused and hung-over and the floor was a mess, and his clothes were covered in paint and staining his tub, and Jehan was still snoring against his chest.

Courf’s movements were slow and smooth with practice. He slid out of his bed, covering Jehan with the blankets to keep him warm, and on a whim, he ran his fingers through the other man’s gently. Not something he did with his one night stands, but something he wanted to do with Jehan. Quietly, he slipped into a pair of pajama pants and a white t-shirt and set out to assess the damage to his apartment.

Jackie, his cat was meowing loudly at him when he entered the kitchen. She hadn’t been fed and it was already past noon, a mortal sin, considering the urgency with which she pawed at him. “Sorry princess.” He said fondly as he fed her, glad that one of his problems was so easily fixed. Combeferre was gone, Courf assumed that he had woken up and left on his own. He’d text ‘Ferre later, he thought foggily as he turned on his coffee maker. The mess wasn’t terrible; he could clean that up easily enough. Another problem sorted. That just left….Yeah. Jehan, and their clothes. The clothes themselves weren’t a big deal, but Jehan….Jehan was different, special. He didn’t want to “deal” with Jehan, but he didn’t quite know what to do about the perfect, beautiful, sweet, lovely, funny, incredible man sleeping in his bed.

The first time they had met Courf thought he was just a perfect dork, and he loved it. The second time they met, Courf knew he was in trouble when he heard the man laugh. The third time, well, Jehan had stretched, and Courf got a glimpse of his stomach, and that was it, Courf needed him. For a while he had all these dreams and fantasies about the poet, flowers and candles and rose petals, countered with the rough fucking Courf suspected Jehan would be superb at. But then he calmed down, and actually got to know Jehan. He grew to love the man’s laughter, and his insane love for floral print, and the way he would braid flowers into the hair of anyone who would let him. He grew to fall in love with the shyness, and the blush, and the meek glances that Courf had started living for.

The beep of the coffee maker woke him from his reverie and he poured himself a steaming mug and took a spot leaning against the counter. Sipping the coffee slowly, he glanced around the kitchen again, smiling when he spotted Jehan’s dirty couplet from last night. And then a sleepy greeting caused him to glance up and sputter slightly. “G’morning.” Jehan waved sheepishly, walking into the kitchen in nothing but his boxers and a lovely red blush that clearly spread to his chest. Courf grinned and poured the man a cup of coffee and slid it over. “More like afternoon, but the sentiment is there.” Jehan cupped the mug and sighed, breathing the aroma in deeply before sipping at it. “Oh god, that’s good.” He nearly moaned. Courf chuckled and nodded, sipping at his own cup. “It’s a talent.”

They sat in silence for a moment, drinking coffee and throwing shy glances over the counter. Courf was doing his best to not directly stare at Jehan’s chest, but damn it was hard. “So…about last night?” Jehan broke the silence with a line Courf hated most of all. “Yeah.” He sighed. “Listen, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I just get really touchy when I’m drunk and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable…” Jehan interrupted him. “But it was okay.”

“Huh?” Courf blinked and set his coffee down. The poet blushed even redder, if that were possible. “I just….It was okay? I didn’t mind it. I….I like you, Courf. “ The words came out quickly, like he was ripping off a band aid, but the meaning wasn’t lost on the law student. He played with the handle of his mug for a moment. “Good. ‘Cause I like you too.” It felt like a kindergarten confession, the two of them blushing something terrible, and offering shy glances and grins every so often as an awkward silence fell.

Jehan cleared his throat. “So….what now?” Courf grinned and walked over to Jehan, his mug forgotten on the counter. He cupped the man’s chin and lowered his head to brush his lips against the other’s, a soft, tentative, whisper of a kiss. “We could do more of that.” Jehan said softly, once Courf had pulled away. He chuckled and took Jehan’s mug and put in the sink to join his own, before tugging on Jehan’s hand, leading them back to the bedroom.

Surprisingly enough, Jehan was the one to take the lead, once Courf had offered the suggestion, though in hindsight, Courf wasn’t that surprised, considering the poet had been the one to finally admit his feelings. Jehan wrapped his arms around Courf’s neck, and pressed himself close, his chest still bare which to Courfeyrac was just….wonderful. Kissing Jehan was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Maybe it was because Jehan mattered so much more, or maybe it was because Jehan kissed like he wrote, passionately, fully, with no lack of finesse and elegance, and just the right amount of sass that it kept you entertained for hours.

They fell onto Courf’s bed, a tangle of limbs and tongues and lips and just the barest hint of teeth. Jehan settled to lie stretched out on top of Courfeyrac, and the law student was only too happy to oblige. He let his hands stray to Jehan’s hips, kneading the skin of the man’s slender form, eliciting a soft moan, vibrating against lips that never broke their kiss. Courf pulled back slightly to take a heavy breath and grinned up at Jehan, brushing some of his long hair from his eyes. “I’ve wanted to do this with you for a long time.” Jehan smirked. “What took you so long?”

Courf chuckled “Waiting for the right moment, I guess.” Jehan laughed and relaxed, straddling the other man’s hips and running his hands under the hem of Courf’s shirt. “Jehan? Are you sure….” Courf stilled his hands for a moment as Jehan interrupted. He wasn’t going to lie and say he wasn’t willing, or ready, because it was already clear that he wanted the other man to continue, but he wasn’t going to do so the wrong way.“I’ve been waiting long enough, Courf. This is the right moment, okay? I want this, and by the feel of it.” He smirked and rolled his hips down, his own arousal obvious against Courf’s… “So do you. Am I right?” Courf could only manage a strangled “Yes.”

The poet made quick work of Courf’s clothes, stripping him down to his boxers. He straddled the others hips in a tangle of legs, drinking in the delicious moans that spilled from his lips. He may have been writing poetry in his head while he was doing so, but seeing as he had no pen, he’d just have to make this pretty damn memorable.

He kissed a line down Courfeyrac’s chest and stomach, pausing at spots he found exceptionally beautiful. The spot between his nipples, just over his abdomen, a birthmark he found to the right of his navel, all of these he committed to memory for the next time a muse struck him. “You’re gorgeous.” He murmured against the warm skin of Courf’s hips. The law student’s fingers ran through Jehan’s blonde hair. “So are you. I’ve always thought so. Perfection in floral.” Jehan smirked and nipped the spot where Courf’s hipbone jutted out. “Not at the moment.”

Courf’s boxers were quickly done away with, much to his surprise. Jehan knew what he was doing, and he did it well. Courf groaned and let his head fall back to the pillow as the sweet poet’s lips wrapped around his cock and swallowed him down. “Fuck, Jehan.” he gasped out, his hands tightening their grip in the man’s hair. Oh yes, Jehan knew what he was doing. His tongue, the one that was so good at reciting the most beautiful words in existence, was also filthy in the way it dragged up the underside of Courf’s length, ending to press against his slit, and then bobbing back down to do it again. Courf was being taken apart, dissolving into a writhing mess on his sheets, one hand tangled in Jehan’s hair, the other thrown over his eyes in a complete expression of pleasure.

Jehan moaned around his shaft, letting the vibrations of his throat urge Courf forward. He loved this. Every sound the man made, every hitch of breath, every little twitch and turn, he could feel in a unique way and it shot waves of pleasure straight through him. One hand wrapped around Courf’s base, but the other went to dip under the waistband of his shorts, cupping himself. That made him moan once more, which in turn set Courf off even further. Without stopping the steady bob of his head, we started to stroke himself, almost lazily, wanting to see how long he could draw them both out.

Courf, in the meantime, was slowly melting in a pool of heat, want, and pleasure. Jehan’s mouth was so good, so hot, and wet, and he was so talented with it that he couldn’t help but moan and whimper, no holding back. “J-jehan.” He stuttered, feeling that heat pool at the base of his spine. “S-so close, Jehan.” He warned, his legs starting to quiver. Jehan responded with a quick upstroke with his hand, followed by his lips, and stroking himself faster. With a loud gasp and a hitch of his hips, Courf reached his peak, spilling into Jehan’s mouth until he was spent. Jehan worked him through his orgasm, chasing his own release not moments after, though with less flair than Courf had displayed.

He crawled up over the other man, happily satisfied, and leaned over him for a gentle kiss. Courf reciprocated as eagerly as he could, still reeling from his orgasm. He could vaguely taste himself on Jehan’s tongue, and that made him purr happily as he pulled the poet to him. “Worth waiting.” He murmured, as much a question as a statement, and kissed the side of Jehan’s head.

The blonde nodded happily and settled himself to rest against Courf’s chest. They had already slept the day away, but a little bit more time in bed together couldn’t hurt.


End file.
